At a Glance
by Little Horatio
Summary: Sequel to “Dear God.”Events that occurred during our CSIs’ childhood, along with Rick.It’s pleasant, funny, adorable, and explains how our fave CSIs—and Rick—came to be.From little innocent children to the now successful adults.chap5.Eric the Scaredy-cat.
1. Nicknames

Title: At a Glance

Author: Little Horatio

Summary: Sequel to "Dear God." Events that occurred during our little CSIs' childhood, along with our favorite IAB Agent, Rick. It's pleasant, funny, adorable, and explains how our favorite CSIs—and Rick—came to be. From little innocent children to the now successful adults. It keeps getting better…

Warning: For those who have read "All Over Again," some of the details presented in this story may as well be a spoiler for my first fic's proceeding sequels, but not to worry, I've only put bits and pieces, and I was clearly having seconds thoughts in posting this. Luckily, my make-your-readers-happy conscience overwhelmed me so, here it is!

Note: This fic is the continuation for "Dear God." I came up with this to let you, the readers, know my point of view in everything that goes on in the lives of our beloved CSIs. And for added spice, I brought in Rick. I'm sure he'll give us more than a few laughs. This fic lets you see what I see. It lets you know what I have deduced in watching the ever bright Calleigh Duquesne to the all serious redhead, Horatio Caine. And of course, the most hated and at the same time beloved IAB Ass—I mean—Agent, Rick Stetler.

I have waited a long time in sharing all of these to you, my soon-to-be readers, so I hope you guys like it. And better, yet, appreciate its innocence.

And, by the way. To all those lovely people who read "Dear God" and left me reviews that made me feel cherished and loved, I thank you. And this, my friends, is dedicated to all of you grateful people. I hope you like it. Enjoy…

Disclaimer: Don't own any…

Main characters: Horatio Caine, Calleigh Duquesne, Eric Delko, Timothy Speedle, Ryan Wolfe, Alexx Woods and Rick Stetler.

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Chapter 1: Nicknames

Horatio Caine and Rick Stetler

At the adorable ages of 8 and 9…

Every morning, little Horatio and his mother, Katherine, walked towards school, hand in hand. They had made this a part of their routine; one of the many forms of mother and son bonding. Though living in a bustling city that was New York, the two of them exchanged words as if they were the only ones around. They ignored everybody but themselves.

Luckily, Horatio's school was quite near from where he lived and that made it all the more convenient. After a few more steps, there they were, at Hopkin's elementary school, where other little boys and girls were just arriving, getting out of their cars, accompanied by their moms and dads, smiling and laughing.

Katherine bent her knees and gave her eldest son a bright smile.

"Ready for school, Angel?"

"Always am," replied the little boy and returned the smile with his own small one.

"That's my big boy," said Katherine, spreading her arms.

Horatio reached in for the embrace, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck. He could smell the soothing fragrance of her soft, wavy brown hair.

"How about a kiss for mommy?" she requested.

Standing on his toes, the boy gave his mother a peck on the cheek.

"Now be a good boy and behave, okay?" his mother told him, wearing a beautiful smile.

"Okay," Horatio nodded.

Katherine stood straight and said, "You promise?"

"Mommy," Horatio said in a playful tone. It was one of their routines.

"Only joking, sweetheart," she said, laughing. "I know you'll do fine."

Horatio giggled and smiled cheerfully. He loved it when his mother plays around with him.

Katherine bent forward and kissed her son lightly on the forehead, then said, "You better go before the bell rings."

"Okay," said the little redhead, "Love you."

"Love you too, Angel," she said affectionately. "Good-bye."

"Bye," Horatio said, waving his hand until he could no longer see his mother.

Before he could turn around, he heard a familiar voice.

"Angel?"

Horatio's eyebrows lowered and his bright smile vanished. Turning, he said, "Hey, Rick."

The little brunette with his hair cut short—bangs barely touching his forehead—and with brown eyes giving him a questioning look, the boy repeated, "Angel?"

"You do know that I'm not deaf, right?" said Horatio, shifting his shoulders, making himself comfortable with his backpack. "I heard you the first time."

"So why, 'Angel'?" asked little Rick, getting straight to the point. "I mean—"Starts to examine his friend, walking around him, eyes roaming everywhere."—Angels are supposed to be ALL white. You're, well, not that ALL white. If you ask me, you look more like a—"

"I get it, Rick," interrupted Horatio and starts to walk towards the building, annoyed that his 'friend' had pointed out his fiery red hair again.

"Hey, wait for me!" Rick shouted and walked beside him. "It's really stupid ,you know."

"What is?"

"Your nickname," the brunette simply said.

Horatio frowned. His mother gave him that nickname for as long as he could remember and, so far, he likes it. Whatever his mom liked, he liked, so who's he to say that it's stupid?

His temper began to rise and he was about to say something his mother would totally scold him for when…

"Duckie!!"

Horatio spun around and saw a woman running towards them, carrying a lunch box. He didn't know her so he turned to Rick, only to see him freeze on the spot.

"Duckie," the woman said, wearing a business suit and some make-up. "You forgot your lunch box, honey."

Rick turned around and said, already blushing, "Thanks, mom."

"Your welcome, Duckie," she said, delightfully, her dark hair bouncing. She turned her gaze to the boy standing next to his son. "This must be little Horatio, the one you told daddy and I about. Nice to meet you."

"You too, ma'am," replied Horatio, slightly bowing his head.

"Aw, aren't you sweet?" she said, preventing herself from pinching the little redhead's cheeks. She glanced from Horatio to her son. "You two are so cute!!!"

"Moooom!!" exclaimed Rick, going redder on the face.

"Okay, okay. Mommy needs to go anyway." She kissed her son on the cheek. "Bye, Duckie."

"Bye," returned Rick, letting out a big breath.

"Don't forget daddy," she told him and looked at the car at the far end.

Rick waved his hand sheepishly at the car and saw his father wave back with a smile on his face. He then quickly turned away, looking as red as his friend's hair, mumbling something that sounded like, "I told her to not call me that!"

Horatio smiled broadly and raised his eyebrows, giving Rick a look of utter amusement. He then walked in the school, quietly, saying, "Whose nickname is stupid now?"

Rick shot him a cold gaze, but eventually followed him inside, saying in a murderous tone, "Don't even go there."

Horatio, unable to stifle his delight any longer, laughed to his heart's content, clutching his sides.

Rick scowled and told him to shut up as they neared their classroom, going in as the bell rang and getting ready for their first period.

"Okay, I'm—sorry," Horatio said in between laughs. He gave his friend a look of utmost glee and mischief, then, added, "…Duckie."

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Little Horatio: Let me know what you guys think! Should I continue? I have loads more in-store!


	2. Deal

Chapter 2: Deal

"Can I have a turn?"

"No, honey."

"Can I have a turn?"

"Maybe later."

The little girl waited…

"How about now?"

"Lamb chop!" Kenwall said with a laugh, putting down what he was holding. "Daddy can't finish what he's doin' if 'ya keep interruptin'."

"But, I'm bored," reasoned the 9 year-old Calleigh Duquesne, her hair tied into a pony tail. "I want a turn."

"Just watch daddy, okay, lamb chop?"

"But, I've been watchin' for…forever!" she told him, which was completely true. She had been for over two months now. "I want a turn!"

"Now, Calleigh, as much as daddy wants 'ya to have a turn at his gun, he can't," Kenwall said. Out of all 4 of his kids--and three of them being boys--why did God have to choose his only girl to be the one interested by guns. And at a very early age, he might add.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one—" Kenwall paused for a second. "---daddy needs to finish assemblin' his gun."

Calleigh looked at him, her eyes shifting to his hands, then back to his face. 

"I can do that," she simply said.

"Aw…," the father said and pinched his daughter's cheek. "Ain't that cute."

"Daddy!" She gave a pout. Her father wasn't taking her seriously, at all. "I'm not kiddin'. I can do it."

"Lamb chop, how can 'ya if 'ya haven't even held a gun before?" Kenwall asked, playing along.

"I've been practicin' with Jason's pellet guns."

"Have you, now?" He wasn't expecting that kind of answer from his youngest. "And does your big brother know 'bout that?" 

"No."

"Listen, darlin'," Kenwall started, "even if you have been practicin', Jason's pellet guns are different from daddy's guns. Daddy's guns are real."

"Why don't you just le' me try?" Calleigh asked. She put on her cute/ pouting face. She wasn't going to give up.

Kenwall sighed. His youngest child's been bothering him non-stop since she asked what guns were. And now, he cursed the day he answered her. She's been asking if she could hold a gun for two months now, and he could only think of one way to let her stop.

"Have you been really practicin' assemblin' a gun, honey?" Kenwall asked. He had to do this.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, how 'bout this." He had no choice. "Let's make a deal. Daddy's lettin' you have your own gun, if you assemble his."

"Right now?" she said, not believing it. She's finally going to have a turn with his gun. And maybe have her own.

"Yeah, right now." There was no possible way she could assemble his gun. There was just no way. "But, if 'ya don't or can't assemble it…you will not hold or touch any more guns, including Jason's. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay, then." Kenwall leaned back on his seat. He didn't know if little Calleigh would cry or give a tantrum, because he was positive she won't be able to even get two or three parts right. "Why don't 'ya show daddy how 'ta assemble a gun."

"Yay!!" the little girl squealed, jumping in front of her daddy, facing his gun and its parts that were just cleaned.

Kenwall Duquesne smiled at his little daughter's joy. After several seconds, he reached for his bottle of beer that stood on the table next to his Calleigh's work station. He almost dropped it.

Wrapping his fingers around the bottle's neck, he got a glimpse of his daughter's work. 

_Dear Lord… _escaped his mouth _…she's halfway done._

Kenwall silently watched in awe as his youngest worked intently on what she was doing. Grabbing a piece from the table, she examined. It was the hammer. She then took a look at the gun she was holding that was almost finished, and looked back at the hammer. She placed it gently at its correct position and got another piece form the table.

Fixedly, the father watched in shock as she piece by piece put the gun together. And at such a speed at that. 

She now went for the magazine and inserted it its proper location, and said, "Daddy, what was the thing you do after—oh, yeah!"

Calleigh got her hand on top of the gun and cocked it, before placing it down the table, apparently, very satisfied with herself.

"Finished!"

"H-h-how…" Kenwall couldn't speak. He seemed to have forgotten how.

"I told you, I was practicin'," the little blonde answered, all smiles. "And, besides, I've been watchin' you do it for a very long time now. I kinda got bored."

"You learned all that from watchin' me do it?" the father exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"Uh-huh."

"Sweet Jesus…" let out Kenwall, still not believing what he just saw. Maybe his eyes were broken.

"Uh…daddy?"

"Yes, lamb chop." Wait 'til the boys hear about this.

"When can I get my gun?" Calleigh asked innocently, not minding the look on her father's face. He looked silly. "Can I have it tomorrow?"

_Oh, boy……_

He had forgotten about that.

* * *

Little Horatio: I'm so sorry. It took me a very long time to decide if I was going to continue this fic. As mentioned in chap 1, I was having second thoughts about making this. But luckily, unlike in chap 1, I did not reveal anything about my sequels here. 

I had to rewrite everything I prepared before. Damn. 

Anyway, hoped you like it. Leave a comment if you like.


	3. Speed

Chapter 3: Speed

"BEN!"

"I swear it was a misunderstanding!" the man yelled out in reply the second he jumped off of his seat from shock. "And I'll never do it again!"

"Ben!" rang through the house one more time.

"It was only a Pop tart!" he exclaimed in defense, "One tiny, miniscule Pop tart!"

"What are you talking about?" She gestured him to stand by her side. "Come here!"

Benjamin Speedle ran to his beautiful and slender wife, Austin Speedle, still wearing his white T-shirt and dark pajama bottoms. He left his breakfast on the table half finished, wondering why his wife kept yelling out his name.

"What is it, Austin?" he asked, standing by the front door with her. She had a stunned look on her face. What a thing to have so early in the morning, he thought.

"Would you mind explaining this to me?" Austin said, more than a hint of irritation in her voice.

Ben looked outside and saw the guy from the store he went to see a couple of days ago. "Hey, Cash. How 'ya doing?"

"Same old, same old," he said in a toothy grin. "Just here to deliver this." He patted his hand on the seat of a brand new bicycle.

Oh.

"I, uh—" Ben glanced at his wife (gulp), who crossed her hands and had her eyebrow raised. He then glanced back at Cash, saying, "Thanks, Cash. I owe you."

"Not a problem, Ben," he replied back happily. "Just say happy birthday to the tyke for me."

"Yeah, sure." The Speedles watched him go back to his delivery truck. Ben thanked him again before he left, and went back to the situation at hand. His wife.

He smiled nervously. "Austin, I can explain."

"Go ahead."

"I, uh…" She waited. "I…okay, I can't."

"What were you thinking buying our son a bicycle for his birthday?!" she questioned.

"Come on, Austin," he said, really not knowing what else to say. "The boy's turning 10."

"Exactly!" she snapped. "Timothy is turning 10 and you're giving him a-a-a death machine?!"

"Austin! It's only a bicycle!" Ben's wife was taking things way out of proportion. "It's nowhere near a death machine!"

"You know how reckless our son can be!" she reminded him. Really. What was her husband thinking?

"Don't worry," he said, calming his wife down. "I already bought him some pads and a helmet. He'll be fine."

"Benjamin! Did you not hear what I just said?"

"I heard you loud and clear, honey," Ben replied in a sigh. Then decided to mutter, "It's not my fault he inherited his recklessness from YOUR side of the family."

"What did you just say?" Austin already had her hands on her hips. "Honestly, Ben. I don't know if you're taking our son's safety seriously or not."

"Honey, of course, I am." He went behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin on her shoulder. "Look, I bought Tim the bicycle because I felt bad if I didn't. He's been talking about wanting one for months. I just couldn't deny him that anymore."

"You should've told me that you were buying one," she said, her back pressing entirely on his chest. She finally gave in. "The color you picked is hideous."

Ben laughed. "You know Tim's favorite color is yellow."

Austin laughed with him. "I blame you for his choice for colors."

She turned to face him, still in her husband's arms. A moment of eye contact, and then, they ended up giving each other a passionate kiss.

"Ew!"

They saw little Timothy standing at the stairs, wearing his yellow pajamas, his dark hair all messy and standing up.

"I'll be in my bedroom until you guys are done doing…whatever you're doing."

"Timmy," Austin said, laughing. For a ten year old, their son always had a way with words. "Mommy and daddy were only kissing. What's so wrong with that?"

"Um…you're doing it where everybody can see you?" young Timothy said, pointing at the open door.

"They're just jealous because your dad married the most beautiful woman in the world," Ben said, hugging his wife possessively.

"Stop it, Ben," Austin giggled. "Anyway, Timmy, why don't you come down here and join us?"

Timothy did and was immediately picked up by his father and kissed by his mother.

"Hey, son," Ben said, carrying his only child in his arms, "you know what day it is today?"

"Garbage day?" Timmy answered without a hint of enthusiasm. Why were they so alive today?

"Are you sure?" Ben smiled at his wife. "We could've sworn it's your—"

"Birthday!!" shouted Timothy the second he remembered. "What did you get me?"

"Why don't you take a look outside?" Ben suggested, putting his son down gently.

The moment the son touched the floor, he dashed out the door and stop at his tracks, his eyes almost popping out at what he saw.

"You bought me a bicycle! Yes!" exclaimed Timmy in joy, touching his gift delicately as if it were the Holy Grail. "And it's a Bad Boy Extreme!"

"Only the best for our little boy," Austin said, and found herself in a huge hug.

"Thank you! Thank you!"

"Hey, how about your old man?" Ben complained. Timmy moved and hugged him too. He laughed at his son's joy. "Why don't you go get dressed, eat breakfast and get back right here? Mommy and I will teach you how to ride your bike."

"Okay!" Timmy replied quickly and zoomed inside the house.

A few minutes later…

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

Timmy, already wearing his elbow and knee pads, and helmet, rode across his parents, going round and round. Only after a few attempts, he quickly got the hang of things and was doing really well, impressing his parents.

"He's such a fast learner," mentioned Austin as they watched their sun ride his first bike happily. "Look at him go."

"Must be from my side of the family," said Ben and got elbowed by his wife, who said, "You wish!"

"It's true!"

"Oh, Ben."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried," she said, feeling something wrong might happen. "What if Timmy gets hurt?"

"Austin." Ben cupped her cheek and made her only look at his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about. He won't hurt himself. Let the kid have some fun."

While Ben and Austin were busy getting hypnotized by each other's eyes, young Timothy thought of upping the ante. He went dead straight, not in circles anymore. Alone in the road, he felt a rush of excitement.

After peddling a few more feet, he made a 180 turn and stopped, a determined glint in his eyes. He saw the little ramp that the big kids in the neighborhood placed by the manhole that was currently being fixed. It was what they used to "fly" and test their courage and speed.

He smiled eagerly. He thought that if he made the jump, he could do it without a sweat. "Speed" was, after all, in his blood, he thought, and it was also his last name.

He readied himself, checking his pads and helmet. When all was in place and ready, he gripped the bar handles more tightly. He bolted like there was no tomorrow.

"Uh, honey," Ben said. "Where's Tim?"

Austin got up from the grass. "He was just there a while ago."

Suddenly, something zoomed past them, and they knew who it was.

"TIM!!!"

Timothy peddled faster and faster, feeling the acceleration. The only thing he could hear right now was the whooshing of the air passing his ears and he wouldn't have had it any other way. It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. And he didn't want it to stop.

A little more, he thought, getting nearer and nearer to the ramp. From this day, they were gonna know him for his speed……for being "Speed."

Oblivious to his parent's desperate shouting from behind and his father running after him, he went into high gear, getting faster than ever before.

He felt the wood hit his front wheel.

… … …

Timmy waved back at the nice doctor and nurse as they exited the hospital, his other hand covered in a cast and was hanging from his sling.

"Can we eat outside, mommy?" the boy asked. "Can we?"

"Why don't you go ask your father?" Austin said with pursed lips. "He seems to KNOW everything."

Ben saw his wife give him the look of death. He felt terrible…and something was tugging his pants.

"Dad," Timmy called his attention. "Can we?"

"I, uh…" Why was it that those two words were always the first ones to escape his mouth? "I don't know if that's a good idea. Doesn't your arm hurt?"

Timmy looked down at his sling-clad left arm. "A little, but not that bad."

Must be the medicine, Ben thought.

"Please, daddy, can we go?" He gave him 'the look.' "I want some ice cream."

Ben gave up and just mentally kicked himself. "Sure. Anything for my birthday boy."

"Yes!"

Austin shook her head and scowled at him as they all got in the car. _Ben is so dead._

"Daddy, do you have a marker?" Timmy asked and got one from him. He leaned back in his seat, and put on his seat belt.

Ben couldn't take it anymore and said in a whisper, "Stop looking at me like that, Austin. You're scaring me."

"Good."

"I know it's my fault—"

"As you should."

"—but I didn't know he would do such a stunt."

"That why I warned you, didn't I?" she hissed at him. "And, now, instead of going home to make him rest, we're going to eat outside and have ice cream!"

"What else could I do? He had those eyes."

Austin gave him a murderous glare and massaged her temple. "Memo to me: kill you when we get home."

Ben's head drooped as he started the car.

"Thanks, daddy," said Timmy, giving back the marker. He obviously hadn't heard their conversation. He just leaned back in his seat and admired the word he scribbled on his cast.

Speed.

* * *

Little Horatio: I wish I had a father like that. Just give him "the look" and--BOOM!--there's my laptop. But, alas, I was born without the ability to produce the infamous puppy-dog eyes.

Anyway, as you might have noticed. I have been posting new chapters in each of my in-progress stories. And I have only 3 more days to do so. After that, back to the Prince's Domain, meaning, my Uncle's house, that does not have a computer, much less a laptop. But who cares? Only I do, right?

Moving on.

I hoped you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you're happy, then I'm happy. And when I'm happy, I write more to make you happy, and if that makes you happy—oh, you get the point!


	4. Brussel Sprouts

Chapter 4: Brussel Sprouts

Doing a 360, he smiled. Everything was in order; the cloths were all in the drawer, properly folded, of course. All the toys were stored inside his toy box, assorted by color. The story books were all in its proper place, the small book shelf; and the bed, already made, without a wrinkle in sight.

The boy, pleased, placed his hands on his hips and exhaled a huge breath.

He smiled, contented with his work. Everything was neat and tidy.

"Ryan!" a voice called from downstairs. "Lunch is ready!"

"'Kay, mom!"

Ryan Wolfe came down the stairs, went into the dining room and sat next to his father, who was busy reading a book.

"Po-li-ti-cal…sci-ence…" Ryan read the cover. "Dad, what's political science?"

Andy Wolfe looked over the top of his book and saw his young son looking at him inquisitively, waiting for an answer. He knew his son would ask.

Even for a very young boy, Ryan was interested in anything, and wanted to know everything. He usually spent his time cleaning his room or doing "experiments" with his lab kit rather than playing with friends or with his toys.

For Andy, he thought that his son was growing up too fast. Most of the time, they would talk about important stuff, like macro and microeconomics. It was weird discussing such a grown-up thing with his little boy, who should not be having a care in the world until he turned 16. He was even surprised when Ryan decided to just call them "mom" and "dad," because it was "more mature." And he was only 6 when he made that decision.

And, now, the boy wanted to know what political science was.

"Well, son," Andy started, adjusting his glasses. As usual, he was going to give him a straight answer. "Political science is a branch of social science that deals with the theory and practice of politics and the description and analysis of political systems as well as political behaviour."

"Oh…" came out the boy's mouth. He was about to ask another question when his mom brought in their lunch.

"That's enough of political science," Dana Wolfe said, placing the plates on the table. "Andy, what did I say about reading while at the table?"

"Uh…" He closed the book and set it aside. "Sorry, honey." He smiled sheepishly. "I forgot."

Ryan looked at his dad, then down to his plate.

"Ugh!" he let out in disgust. "Not this again!"

"Oh, don't start with me, mister," the mother warned.

"Why is it that every week we have brussel sprouts?!" the boy questioned demandingly. "I HATE brussel sprouts!!"

"We've been through this, Ryan," Dana reminded him. "Stop complaining. Look at you father, he's eating them."

"I stopped complaining ever since your mother threatened me with a fork," Andy whispered to his son but loud enough to let Dana hear what he said.

"I did not threaten you with a fork!" Dana responded in defense. "It was a spoon."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Andy said, putting a brussel sprout in his mouth.

"Dad, you hate brussel sprouts, too?"

"Mm-hmmm."

Dana rolled her eyes, muttering to herself, "Then maybe hating brussel sprouts is hereditary."

"I didn't know you hated brussel sprouts," said Ryan in awe. He watched his father put another sprout in his mouth. "If you hate them, then why are you eating them?"

Andy caught a glimpsed at his wife. "It's bad not finishing the food on your plate."

"Good answer," Dana said to her husband.

The little boy went pensive for a while. He gave his father an exasperated look.

"You're eating them because mom told you to."

Andy sighed. "I thought I knew what I was in for…they didn't even mention this in the wedding vows…"

"Ha-ha," let out Dana. "Very funny."

"Aw, Dana, honey." Even if the taste in his mouth was awful, he was still able to produce a smile. "You know I'm kidding, right?"

Ryan gave them a look. "I still hate brussel sprouts, you know."

"Too bad sport, but you have to do what your mother tells you," the father said. _At least somebody can suffer with me._

Ryan grumbled, forking a sprout. He examined it in disgust before putting it in his mouth. He began to chew.

"Uuughhh…" came out Ryan's lips after he swallowed.

Dana giggled at her son. "Don't worry, Ry. Keep eating them and eventually…you'll get used to it."

Ryan stared at his mother before turning to his father.

"Dad, is that true?"

"Of, course, son," he said. And to make things more believable, he ate a few more sprouts with a smile, even though, in truth, he wanted to vomit. "See? I'm liking them right now. Your mom cooks them so well."

Dana laughed thinking what Andy said was sweet and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

And while she was doing so, Andy mouthed widely, "I hate them!"

Not seeing this, Dana gave him a kiss on the mouth.

"Gross!" Ryan tried not to watch. He glanced down and saw his plate. "Whoever discovered brussel sprouts should die…"

* * *

Little Horatio: In all actuality, I never tasted brussel sprouts before. But I keep on hearing that they taste so nasty. Could you guys confirm this, please? That's if you are willing to leave a review, which I'll be thankful for.

Thanks for reading this! I really appreciate it!


	5. Scaredycat

Chapter 5: Scaredy Cat

He ran across the hall with fear in his eyes, his small pyjama-clad body wrapped with his favourite orange blanket.

"MOM!"

He went inside his parent's room, his mother Rosalind, reading a book, and his father, Sarov, brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

"MOM!" little Eric said urgently, jumping in bed and crawling towards her. "Mom!"

"Yes, hijo?" she said, eyebrows raised and not taking her eyes off her book. "Want anything?"

"Can I sleep with you and papi tonight?" requested the eight year old, his eyes pleading. He hugged his blanket.

"Again, Eric?" Rosalind said, looking at her youngest child.

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no," chimed his father as he got out the bathroom. His curly black hair was still slightly wet and his five o'clock shadow still unshaved. "I don't think so, Eric."

"Why not?" Eric said, staring at his Russian father. They almost looked alike, if it were not for his eyes. He had his mother's eyes.

Sarov sighed. _Here we go again._

"What did I tell you about sleeping in mami and papi's room?" he said, his voice in a Cuban accent, though there was still a hint of Russian. They spoke three languages in the house: English, Russian, and Spanish. It was part of their rule and learning program and he was no exception. He had to learn Spanish.

"To not do it."

"And what are you exactly doing right now?"

"But—"

"You're eight, hijo," his mother cut in, placing the book on the bedside table. She looked at him and smiled endearingly. "You're already a big boy."

"You call me a big boy for just being eight?" Eric said in indignation. "It makes me wonder what you call papi for being forty-five."

"Hey," warned his father, raising a finger, "watch how you talk to your mother. And let's make this clear, I am only thirty-three."

"It doesn't matter, papi," Eric said. "Everything above my age is old." He gave him a smile.

Sarov's eyes narrowed and it trailed from his son to his wife. "I blame you for his dogma," he said, giving his wife a nasty look, which just made her laugh. He went back to Eric, saying, "And as for you, young man, you're not sleeping here. You and your sister have your own room."

"But—"

"No buts, hijo. Listen to your father."

"But the monsters!" the boy whined.

His father ran a hand over his face, grumbling something in Russian. "Not again..." he said. "MARISOL!"

An eleven year old girl wearing her night dress suddenly entered, smiling. She was listening outside. "I was waiting for you to call me."

"Did you tell your brother that there were monsters in his closet again?"

"Uh-uh," she uttered, shaking her head.

"Don't lie to your father, hija," Rosalind said to her.

Sarov gazed at her. "Hay que decir la verdad," he said.

"I am," she said, her face as innocent as ever.

"Is that true?" said Sarov, checking her expression. He knew something was missing. "You didn't tell Eric anything about monsters in his closet?"

"Nope," she said, and then smiled sweetly. "I told him they were all under his bed."

"Marisol!" scolded her mother. She was now comforting Eric, hugging him.

Sarov chuckled looking at his little girl. Albeit she looked more like her mother except for the eyes, her traits were all him, reckless and devious. Just like when he was a child.

Marisol caught her father looking at her and gave him a saccharine smile, which he returned.

If little Eric was a mommy's boy, dear Marisol was a daddy's girl.

"I want to sleep here. The monsters are under my bed and I don't wanna be eaten. No way!" He covered himself with his blanket. "Nuh-uh."

Sarov chuckled again as he shook his head from left to right. "Come here, Mari."

Marisol ran towards him and was lifted by his muscular arms. They joined Eric and Rosalind in bed.

"Now, Eric," Sarov began with Marisol sitting on his lap, "For the hundredth time, there are no such things as monsters."

"How would you know?" he said, popping his head out from under his orange blanket.

"I just know," Sarov said with a shrug.

Eric stared at him for a moment. "Sorry, papi, but that's not convincing enough."

"He does have a point," Rosalind remarked, getting a look from her husband.

"Okay," going back to his son. "How about if I told you I threw them at the pond last night?"

"So? They can swim," Eric told him. "I saw it on T.V."

"Oh, god..." Sarov muttered. _Stupid television._

Rosalind giggled. _I told him it was a bad idea to let him watch T.V._

"Okay," the father continued, not giving up. "What if papi said he drowned them? Hmm?"

"Then ITS papi is going to get you!" yelped Eric, as scared as ever.

Rosalind laughed while Sarov hung his head, defeated.

Marisol sighed, not taking any more of this. "There're no monsters, Eric," she finally said. "Don't be such a scaredy-cat."

"But you said—"

"I was only kidding," she said. "It was a joke."

Eric stared at her, not believing that she had tricked him again. He frowned. "Well, it wasn't funny!"

"It was for me," she smiled.

"Okay, okay," Sarov interrupted before they got into a fight. "Now that that's settled, can we all please go to sleep? You two have school tomorrow and we have to go to work."

"Okay," Eric said, tired from all the talk about monsters that didn't even exist. _Stupid Marisol._ "Good night."

"Good night, you two."

Sarov and Rosalind gave their children a kiss, one on each cheek.

"And Marisol?"

"Yes, papi?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Don't talk to your brother about any more monsters, okay?"

"Okay."

_That was too simple._ Sarov wasn't convinced. "You promise?"

Marisol smiled. "I promise I won't tell him any more about monsters."

"Good girl," smiled Sarov. The minute Marisol got out of their bedroom; he said to his wife, "I think you should keep on reading, Rosa."

"I thought we were going to sleep," she said, about to close the lights.

"I just have this feeling, that's all," he said, making himself comfortable in bed. He turned to her. "I think Marisol is planning something again."

Rosalind's eyes narrowed, giving him an exasperated look. "I blame you for her twisted sense of humour."

Now, it was Sarov's turn to laugh.

Back in their bedroom, Eric and Marisol settled in bed, the lights already closed.

"I'm really sorry about telling you there were monsters, Eric," Marisol said, pulling her blanket over her body. "It really was just a joke."

"It's okay," Eric mumbled, squeezing his blanket. "Just tell me that monsters don't really exist."

"Don't worry, baby brother," she said, "they don't"

"Thanks," he said, "Good night, Mari."

"Good night."

Finally, Eric will be able to sleep peacefully since there were no longer monster in his closet or under his bed, because they didn't exist.

After a few short minutes, Marisol asked if Eric was already asleep.

"Not yet," he said.

"Can I ask a question?" she said, staring at the ceiling.

"What question?" he asked, turning to her.

"I was just wondering..."

"What?"

She propped herself up using her elbow, facing him. "Do you think vampires are real?"

Eric froze.

"Because I've read from a book that when a vampire needs to eat, he goes to a house—" Eric's eyes went wide "--and while his victims are sleeping—" Marisol paused for effect "--he'll bite their necks and suck all the blood until there's nothing left!"

Eric dashed out their room, screaming, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!"

* * *

Little Horatio: Monsters...every kid's fear whether it be the boogie man, werewolves, vampires, psychotic tooth fairies, a drunk and dangerous Santa or sadistic brain-sucking butterflies. Yet, I don't seem to remember being scared of such things when I was a kid. Now, stuffed toys—demented stuffed toys. They're creepy. You know, with their glossy eyes that keep looking at you, and that permanent smile that makes you think they're on to something extremely twisted. (Shiver) I curse the people who created Chuckie—that stupid, crazy, two-feet killing machine. What were they thinking?!

Anyway, enough of what creeps me out, I want to know what creeps you guys out. You know, when you guys were only kids. I know it'll be interesting.

Well, if you don't want to, that's fine.

But remember, people, reviews are like buried treasure; once I see them, they make my eyes sparkle. (Smile)

Thank you for reading!


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